The D Day Scrooge
by April Ballad
Summary: *COMPLETE* After eating England's cooking, Germany falls into a fitful dream, in which he is visited by the ghosts of Christmas Past, Present and Future. They have come to warn him to change his scroogey ways, but will the stubborn nation heed their warnings?
1. Chapter 1

**_A/N: Please see Sparknotes for a detailed summary of each stave/chapter of "A Christmas Carol." This story is a Hetalia parody of Dickens's classic._**

**Disclaimer: Hetalia is © Hidekaz Himaruya. I don't own the series or the characters.**

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><p><strong>15: Gifts From the Allies**

Germany was angry. No, he was furious. No, no, at this point, he was just irritated at their childish behavior.

Germany stared down morosely at the three cheerfully wrapped presents sitting on his desk. He'd been expecting them with dread ever since he'd noticed what day it was, and sure enough, they'd just been delivered to him by a frightened mailman blubbering about not killing the messenger. Just as he was contemplating tossing them into the lit fireplace next to his desk, an excited Italy bounded into his office.

"Ve~ Good morning, Ludwig! It's such a nice day! You should come out and play football with me! Yay"!

Germany could already feel his patience reaching its limits. He rubbed tiredly at a temple and muttered darkly, "No Italy. I keep telling you, I have work to do. Leave me alone and go bother Romano."

The Italian completely ignored him, gasping with wide-eyed surprise at the presents sitting on his desk. "Ludwig, Ludwig! You have presents! Are they for you? What are they? Is it pasta? You should open them! Oh! Oh! Open them! Open them!" He bounced from foot to foot excitedly, waving his arms and giggling as if Christmas had come early and they were for him instead of for Germany.

"No Italy. I will not open them. They're America, England and France's stupid idea of a joke, the immature bastards. I'm just going to throw them in the fire instead." As he picked up the nearest obnoxiously colorful box, Italy wailed and grabbed his hand, clinging desperately.

"Nooo Ludwig! They're presents! You have to open presents! There could be pasta inside!" Germany tried in vain to shake off the clinging Italian, to no avail. "Please Ludwig, please open them? I want to see what's inside, ve!"

Germany huffed indignantly, but relented. "If I open them, will you shut up and leave me to work in peace?"

"Ve~!" Italy chirped. Germany noticed he didn't exactly say yes. He sighed and began to unwrap each box with growing dread.

The first one, a large rectangular box wrapped in pink and red wrapping paper, revealed a bouquet of roses. Italy squealed with glee and swept it into his arms, smelling the lightly scented petals.

"They're beautiful, Ludwig! So pretty!" Then Italy paused, as if an idea had just hit him. He tilted his head and bit his bottom lip, suddenly looking unsure and insecure. "Who's sending you flowers, Ludwig? They must really love you…"

Germany almost smiled, before catching himself and forcing a scowl onto his face. "It's France. And he certainly doesn't love me." Germany reached out and plucked a piece of paper stuck into the bouquet. It was a signed photograph of France, blowing a kiss into the camera. A note was scrawled in the Frenchman's elegant script onto the back:

_Happy anniversary, mignon! I hope you appreciate my love present 3_

–_Love, Francis_

_PS: Would love to see your gorgeous face more at the parties. There's a shindig at my place next weekend; will you be gracing us with your presence, mon chaton?_

Italy leaned over and read the note. He looked confused, and curiosity laced his voice. "Why would big brother France send you roses if he doesn't love you, Ludwig?"

Germany sighed heavily. He'd hoped he would never have to explain this to anyone, but there was no getting out of it now. "Do you remember what D-Day is, Italy?"

"Of course! That's the day the Allies started, er, invading…"

"The day that marked the beginning of the Allies' invasion. The day that they succeeded in pushing German forces back in Western Europe. The day that started my downward spiral into humiliating defeat." Germany looked progressively angrier as he talked, his fists clenching on the paperwork strewn across his desk and crushing them. "Yes, Italy. It was the day I got my ass kicked and handed to me, and sixty years later, the bastards still won't let me forget it."

"…Sixty years…?"

"Yes, sixty effing years. As if I didn't apologize enough afterwards, America, England and France still see fit to rub my face in it every year. I usually just burn the stupid things instead of opening them."

Italy felt slightly guilty forcing Germany to go through the extra humiliation of opening the mocking presents. But a present was a present, and he'd been taught by Austria never to waste anything! Least of all a perfectly new, shiny present. "Ve, I'm sorry Ludwig."

"It's fine. Whatever. Let's just get this over with." Germany spared a last glance for the photo of France, before ripping it in half and tossing it into the fireplace. He moved on to the next box, slightly smaller, flat and square. It was clumsily wrapped in wrapping paper with the design of the star spangled banner on it. Germany didn't have to wonder which of the annoying trio it was from. Opening it slowly lest it turn out to be a pie bomb or something and explode in his face (which would be so like America), Germany glimpsed inside to see…more red, blue and white. America had given him a honking huge American flag. Wonderful.

"Ve~ It's pretty!" Italy put down the roses and picked up the flag, rubbing his cheek against the fabric. "Oh! It's so soft, Ludwig! We should keep it!"

Germany turned the box over and the flag spilled onto the floor, taller than Italy and clashing hideously with the room's ambiance. A piece of paper fluttered out and Germany grabbed it. It was a photo of America, flashing his characteristic goofy grin and an enthusiastic thumbs up (_godammit it, he's surrounded by narcissists_). Turning it over wearily, Germany saw scribbled in chicken scratch:

_Like, happy D-Day, dude! (get it? D-Day? Sunds like B-Day? ROFLMFAO) Keep rooking in the free world, man!_

–_You're Hero_

Germany winced at the terrible mutilation of the English language. He wondered if stupidity came naturally to America or if he had to work at it.

"Well, Ludwig? Are you gonna keep it? Are ya? It looks pretty useful to me!"

"I guess I can leave it in the bathroom." Germany mumbled. "Could use it to wipe my ass. Would serve the bastard right." Germany grabbed the third present, smaller than the other two and almost as terribly wrapped as America's. It was heavier than the others and had a faintly weird smell emanating from it. Germany feared the worst. He unwrapped it. It was a plastic food container, holding what looked like it might have once been a casserole, in another life. It smelled a little like French cheese, or pig vomit. Same difference.

Italy looked hesitant as he reached out and took it from Germany. "Um…it could still be useful…I could toss it with some pasta and wine. It'll taste like new! At the very least, we could feed it to your dogs."

"You are not feeding that—that—monstrosity—to my dogs!" Germany shouted as Italy ducked behind the bowl for safety from Germany's sudden outburst. Germany sighed again and crossed his arms grouchily. "Throw it out, all of it. I hate the smell of flowers, the flag gives me seizures just looking at it, and the abomination to God is going to poison the air and kill us all. Then you can leave, and I can get back to work."

"Are you sure you don't want them, Ludwig?"

Germany glared at Italy in answer.

"Ve~ I'll put the flowers in a vase in the living room. And I'll leave the flag on the couch in case you ever want to take a nap and get cold. And…um…" Italy looked around nervously, before setting the food bowl on a nearby shelf. "I'll figure out something to do with that later! I'm sure we can still salvage it, somehow. You should never waste food."

Italy picked up the flowers, and started to leave the room. Just as Germany thought he could finally get started on his work again, Italy turned excitedly in the doorway and said, "Hey! I forgot! I came to ask you to play with me, Ludwig! It's such a nice day and it's all warm and sunny. You should come play football with me in the park!"

"I already told you no, Italy. Now please leave."

"Oh. Okay, you're busy. I'll come back later and—"

"No, Italy! You will not come back later and bother me some more. I'm very busy, and I will still be very busy this evening. So don't come running into my house, naked, and barge in on me when I'm in the shower, or sleeping, or working, or—or—just stop barging in on me, period." Germany didn't bother looking up as the dejected Italian left the room, his metaphorical tail between his legs. Germany felt a stab of guilt, but he stomped it down hard and resolutely ignored the feeling. He didn't have time for this.

As Germany sorted through his ruffled papers, he saw a note that had escaped his attention earlier. It had England's handwriting on it. Thankfully, there was no obnoxious photo, just a simple white sheet and England's curt words on it:

_Enjoy. That took effort to make, so appreciate it._

_-England_

_PS: Haven't seen you outside of EU meetings in months. We do have socials for a reason, you know. If you ever decide to drop the scrooge act, you're welcome to come share a beer._

Germany balled up the paper along with America's photo, and threw them both into the fire. He really, really didn't have time for this.

**XXX-XXX-XXX-XXX**

He worked for a long time, blissfully undisturbed, until the ringing of his telephone broke through his concentration. He huffed angrily and picked it up.

"Allo. Deutschland."

"Hello, Germany-san." A soft voice answered through the receiver.

"Hello, Japan. Is there something you needed?" Germany didn't want to sound rude, but he needed to get back to his work and he didn't want to deal with whatever problem his friend had.

"Um, yes, Germany-san. We are planning a surprise party for Hungary-san. Her birthday is in 2 days, as I am sure you are already aware." Huhn. Germany wasn't aware. He must've forgotten.

"And?"

"And I am currently extending invitations to all her friends. You would honor myself and the other organizers if you were available and so inclined to be in attendance."

Germany sighed tiredly. "Just why are you organizing this, Japan? I wasn't aware you even knew Hungary."

"Um, yes, well. That is a very interesting question, Germany-san." The rest of Japan's response was uttered in a fast mumble, and Germany only caught a few words, like "fangirls" and "bishies" and "cameras". Germany had no idea what Japan was talking about, and he decided he didn't want to know.

"I'm sorry, Japan. I'm very busy these days. I'm buried under tons of paperwork, and I just can't spare the time. I'll just call her and wish her a happy birthday. Give her my apologies when you see her."

"I see. I am sorry to hear that, Germany-san. I hope you are not too over-stressed."

"I'm fine, Japan."

"You are a hard worker, Germany-san, but even the Japanese know that we all have our limits. You should try to relax more, take better care of yourself."

"I can't believe I'm hearing this from you, of all people. It doesn't matter. Thanks anyway, Japan. Goodbye now." Germany barely heard Japan's soft goodbyes as he slammed down the receiver.

Again, Germany returned to his work. After a while, however, he felt a tingling in his spine. He had the disconcerting feeling that he was being watched. He scanned the room discreetly, his eyes darting from side to side, and his hand hovering over the pistol he kept in his desk drawer. There was a slight movement behind him, and he whirled around. Three faces peeked back at him from the darkness outside his office window. One of the figures squeaked as Germany growled and stomped over to them. There was a brief tussle, before Germany flung the window open and glared at the three intruders.

Spain, Ireland and Greece gazed back at him. From the looks of it, Spain had lost whatever hurried fight there'd been while Germany was marching over, and now the other two tried subtly to hide behind the hapless nation.

"Oh, hi Germany! What a surprise to see you here. Are you lost? Where am I? Oh, you mean this isn't the bullfighting ring? Silly me, I'll just be on my way then."

Ireland grabbed Spain before he could flee, berating him in angry whispers. Greece watched on indifferently, though his brows were creased and a worried look marred his usually peaceful face.

"What the hell do you all want?" Germany barked at them.

Spain cringed and Ireland gave up trying to make the man grow a backbone. He threw the Spaniard to the ground and glared back defiantly at Germany. "We want that freaking stimulus package, you cheap ass! When the hell are you gonna fork up?"

"Let me think. How about never!" Germany crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes, giving Ireland the dirtiest look he could muster. He didn't see the fiery redhead often, and was slightly unnerved at how much he looked like England with those bushy eyebrows. He had more fire than England in him though, and even less courtesy.

"Fuck you, jackass! Europe's going to hell in a hand basket and you're too cheap to even notice! It may be us today, but wait till it comes round to you! Even your precious fatherland can't escape the recession, y'know!"

"Save it for the soup kitchen. Now get the hell off of my property before I call security." With that, Germany slammed the window shut in Ireland's face and jerked the curtains closed. Those three were the headache of the month for Germany right now. All of their economies were failing, and they'd turned to the EU with upturned palms. Germany was damned if he'd give them a handout like in some communist paradise. If they were failing, it was because they hadn't worked hard enough; they'd been lazy and were now suffering the consequences. Germany wasn't their mother. He wasn't going to just bail them out. They'd have to find their own solutions to the mess they'd gotten themselves into.

Wanting to go back to work yet thoroughly distracted now, Germany resolved to take a shower and head to bed instead. It was later than he'd thought, well past 2am. His stomach growled in protest. Damn. He'd forgotten dinner. Again. Maybe Japan's pleading had merit, maybe he really ought to take better care of himself.

Germany trudged to the kitchen and opened the fridge door. He blinked. It was completely empty. He threw open the freezer and was met with the same sight. A quick dig through the shelves revealed that every last can of food was gone. Suspicious, Germany went into the dining room. His eyes fell on a note left haphazardly on the table. In chicken scratch nearly as bad as America's, Prussia had scrawled: "_Ran outta food. Get off your lazy ass and go do some grocery shopping. Gonna crash at Francis's till you wise up._"

Germany sighed heavily. Dammit, when _had_ been the last time he'd done some grocery shopping? Apparently, he and Prussia had been digging through their supplies without his noticing, and had finally ran out. Of course his lazyass brother wasn't going to do anything useful, like buy food. Instead he'd just left to mooch off of someone else.

Germany's stomach growled again. It was late, and he didn't know the numbers of any 24 hour restaurants. He briefly entertained the idea of calling up Italy. But no. The Italian was probably still licking his wounds after the little blow-up Germany had had at him today. And Germany was too proud to crawl to Italy when he'd kicked him out just earlier that day. That left two options.

England's Frankenstein was still sitting in his office. And, provided Prussia hadn't been desperate enough to devour everything, there was still dog food.

Germany weighed his options. His brain was screaming at him to just suck it up and go to bed, but his stomach was loudly protesting the idea. Loudly. And hungrily.

Germany headed for the living room to retrieve the dog food.

Dammit, he wasn't that pathetic! Halfway there, he switched course and entered his office. Everyone might tease England for his cooking, but it couldn't really be _that_ bad. I mean, England probably ate his own cooking all the time, and he was still alive and functioning. Barely.

Germany remembered Italy's suggestion to cook it with wine. He strode to his desk and retrieved a can of beer from the secret compartment. It may not be cold beer, but it was the only way to prevent Prussia from stealing everything. He only wished he'd had the presence of mind to stash some food away too. Somehow beer had seemed more important at the time.

Opening the food container to reveal the aberration—along with a plastic fork that England had helpfully provided in the hopes anyone would actually eat the thing—Germany took a huge gulp of beer and dug in. He got through a few large bites before he ran out of beer. Well that wasn't too bad. He'd had worse. Eighty years ago, he'd once been stuck in the trenches and had killed a rat to stay alive. Certainly even England's cooking couldn't match a raw, freshly killed rat. With that comforting thought, Germany headed to the shower and then to bed.

As Germany was climbing under the sheets, he began to feel slightly nauseated. Maybe it had been a terrible idea after all. Maybe the casserole really was going to off him. Wouldn't that be a dignified way to die. And his gravestone would say: _Here lies Ludwig. He was a good man and died eating casserole. May England get sued so he can rest in peace. _

Germany snorted. He was getting more and more childish by the minute. The food was definitely responsible. He lay back in bed and resolved to get some sleep. In the unlikely event that he survived the night, he'd go kick England's ass tomorrow.

**XXX-XXX-XXX-XXX**

Germany tossed and turned fitfully in his sleep. Then he heard the faint sound of chains rattling, and was pulled awake. The first thing he noticed was Prussia's face inches from his, staring intently into his eyes. Germany jerked back in surprise and banged his head against the headboard.

"Wha—what the fuck are you doing!" Germany rubbed his sore head and opened his eyes all the way. Prussia was sitting on his bed, straddling him, and waving a silly link chain in his face.

"Ugh! Finally! You're fucking awake. God, West, you sleep like a brick."

"You could've just woken me up like a normal person!"

"And where'd be the fun in that, huh?" Prussia had a huge shit-eating grin on his face and Germany wanted to smack it upside down.

"Just tell me what the fuck you want. Do you even know what time it is?"

"Of course! It's midnight, the witching hour!"

"You're delirious. It's…" Germany glanced at the digital clock on his bedside table. It flashed midnight. Huh. "…The fuck…"

"Alright, all jokes aside, listen to me, West." Prussia dropped the chain and lightly slapped Germany on both cheeks with his hands. "I'm here for a reason. You're in terrible danger—"

"What the fuck have you been drinking?"

"—of living a sad, lonely existence for the rest of your fucking life. Of course that's already been happening for a while, and this revelation is coming a bit late, in my awesome opinion."

"Gilbert, just get the fuck off me and let me sleep. It's been a long day and—"

"Fucking listen, will ya!" Prussia slapped him again and Germany growled. "Listen. This is a warning. If you keep being the totally unawesome grouch-meister that you've been for the past couple months, you're gonna end up totally alone. Like, totally, no joke. Even Feli's gonna drop your ass like a hot potato."

"…And you're telling me this…why?"

"Because I'm your awesome ass brother and I give a shit, believe it or not. Now you gonna take my advice or what?"

"Why would I listen to you about anything?"

"Because, you dumbass! Because I know what it's fucking like, okay? Like, well, not firsthand, cause I'm completely awesome unlike you. But I've lived a long time and I've seen it in others."

"Are you sure it isn't because you've lived it with Austria and Hungary?"

Prussia growled. "Who needs those losers. I'm perfectly happy on my own. Perfectly happy! Fuck yeah!"

"So…you're warning me that if I don't change my ways, I'm going to end up lonely and pathetic like you."

"Shut your fucking smart mouth! But, uh, something like that. Except the part about me."

Germany considered his brother for a minute. It was quite possible Prussia was completely off-his-ass drunk. "Fuck you, Gilbert. Just let me sleep."

"Fine! You ungrateful ass! If you won't listen to me, maybe you'll listen to them. Listen, three ghosts are gonna visit you tonight—"

"Okay, screw drinking, what the fuck have you been snorting?"

"—and they're gonna teach ya the meaning of Christmas. I mean, the meaning of, erm, not being an ass to everyone. They'll come at 1am, 1am and midnight."

Prussia cuffed him on the side of the head as Germany opened his mouth to protest, and leapt out of bed before Germany could retaliate. Laughing maniacally for no reason, he threw open the nearest window and jumped out. Germany heard a loud thump, followed by a weak "I'm okay! Kesese!"

Germany thought he should take a moment to ponder the crazy that was his life. Then he said screw it, and went back to sleep.

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><p><strong>As always, all reviews are much loved and appreciated!<strong>

_I've already got this story's plot totally laid out, so it shouldn't be too hard to finish writing._


	2. Chapter 2: Ghost of Christmas Past

**2/5: The Ghost of Christmas Past**

Germany slept fitfully. He kept dreaming of evil cuckoo clocks and France, England and America laughing manically at him as they jumped repeated through a window. Suddenly, he woke up and found a pair of large brown eyes gazing back at him.

Germany yelped and shot up in shock, banging his already pounding head on the headboard. Rome crossed his arms and broke into a wide grin.

"Heyy! Lookie who's awake!"

"You can't keep doing this to me! Didn't anyone teach you not to show up in the middle of the fucking night all the time!" Germany clutched his chest and willed himself to breathe. He wasn't going to die of a heart attack and give Rome the satisfaction of watching.

"Ehh? You mean nobody told you I was coming?" Rome pointed to the digital clock, which now flashed 1:00. "Well that's a rip-off. We paid that guy cash to warn you we were coming." He scratched his head in confusion.

"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about. Look. Italy isn't even here. Now just get out and go haunt someone else in their sleep."

"Whaa? My cute grandson isn't here?" Rome looked momentarily surprised. Then he closed his eyes and shook his head. "And why's that, huh? Did you drive him away with your grouchy behavior?"

"Don't come into my house and lecture me!"

"Of course I'm here to lecture ya! I'm your elder, you know! And I'm the ghost of Christmas past!" Rome jabbed a thumb into his own chest with pride, and winked at him cheerfully. "I'm here to show ya what a little bundle of joy you used to be. And then I'm gonna show ya how that lil bundle burned and died and turned into you. Now hold on to something!"

Before Germany could reply, the world around them suddenly shifted and he felt himself being quite literally swept off his feet. He landed gracelessly, falling onto his hands and knees.

"Wha—what the—" Germany pulled himself up despite the dizziness in his head, and surveyed his surroundings. They weren't in his room anymore. In fact, it didn't look like they were in his country anymore. What. The. Eeeeffff.

All around them, Germany saw acres of open land, greenery and flowers. A small boy dressed in a silly black cloak and a hat bigger than his head sat against a pillar next to them, reading a book. Behind the boy lay a majestic stone mansion. They were in the courtyard.

Germany pinched himself. It hurt.

"What—"

"We're certainly not in Kansas anymore, if that's what you're about to ask." Rome sniggered at his own joke. "This is your childhood, my friend. You know, when you were still that bundle of joy I was talking about earlier?"

"This is not my childhood. And this is not happening."

"Oh this is your childhood, alright. And that's you." Rome pointed at the boy. "And this is very much happening."

"I'm going insane. Too many days cooped up in the office, not enough sun. Cabin fever. The casserole! The fucking casserole. That's it. I'm hallucinating. This is not actually happening. I'm just really, really high. Thank God." Germany breathed a sigh of relief.

"Holy Rome!" A woman's voice carried over to them, and Germany was pulled from his mini panic attack by the sight of a younger Hungary, jogging up to them and dressed in a poofy dress. "Come out to play, Holy Rome! Italy and I are playing a game. You should come too!"

"O—okay." The boy put down his book and accepted Hungary's hand as she pulled him up. Hungary smiled sweetly at him. Germany suddenly found that he missed her face, missed seeing that smile. He hadn't seen the real Hungary in months.

"See that! You actually accepted her offer to go play! What's changed now?" Rome gestured to the fake-Hungary and fake-whoever-the-hell-he-was as the two walked away. "Next up! Your mentor!"

The world shifted again; this time, Germany was prepared and he stood his ground as reality gave way. When he opened his eyes, he found himself in a large library. The boy from before sat at the end of a wooden table, looking dejected. A young Austria gazed down on him tiredly.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Austria. I guess I'm just not smart enough."

"Don't say that. It's not true. You're still very young, and these concepts are…complicated. Politics is not a game, after all." Austria moved closer and placed a hand gently on the boy's shoulder. "You should get some rest, Holy Rome. You've been studying hard. Don't be too tough on yourself. Go rest, and we'll start your lessons again later."

"Okay, Mr. Austria." The boy named Holy Rome gazed up at Austria brightly, and gave him a large smile. He hopped down from the too-tall chair and ran past Germany and Rome without seeing them.

"AND you used to take breaks. What happened to ya?"

Germany scowled. He looked at Austria. Even young, the aristocrat looked tired and weighted down beyond his years. Had Austria always looked so old and troubled? Germany couldn't remember. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd seen his old friend.

"I still don't know what you're talking about. This boy—this 'Holy Rome'—he isn't me. I don't remember any of this. My name is Germany—"

"Oh yeah? Let's see the next scene before you make up your mind, friend!" Rome waved his arm and once more the world shifted.

They were on a field. Holy Rome stood facing another child, a young, pretty girl with tears in her eyes. He was holding her hands. Germany's heart ached, but he didn't understand why.

"I've loved you for a very long time," The boy confessed. Then they were leaning toward each other, their lips brushing in a chaste kiss, and their small bodies swaying together in the gentle breeze.

As he watched, Germany thought he could feel a ghost of a kiss upon his own lips, as if remembering the pressure of another's mouth against his own. But that couldn't be true, he'd never been kissed before; he'd always been too busy…

Then they were pulling apart, bidding their goodbyes. It was war that was taking him away. She called after him, promising to wait for his return. Germany couldn't bear to watch anymore; he had a feeling he knew how this story ended.

"He never came back, did he?"

Rome turned to him, an inscrutable look in his eyes. "Don't be so sure. Some loves last for a second, and others last…a much longer time. They're like the stars in the sky, my friend. Infinite and beautiful, and you never know which ones are ephemeral, and which ones are…more." He smiled gently. "Holy Rome left to fight his wars, to chase his ambitions, and win power and glory. You may be right. He may never come back. But that doesn't mean there's no hope left, right?" Rome winked at him again, and without warning, everything shifted.

Holy Rome was just beginning to stir from his troubled sleep. His eyes opened and he shot up in bed, taking in his unfamiliar surroundings with fear and trepidation. A loud set of footsteps carried from the hall into the large chamber. Germany watched with amazement as his older brother marched into the room, the swinging hilt of a blade against his hip, silver armor drenched in blood and glory. Prussia hadn't looked this big and fierce and proud in decades, maybe centuries. Suddenly Germany knew why Prussia always looked so smug; he had a right to be. These were his heydays, and he'd never forgotten them.

"Hey, short stuff! You're awake. Fucking A!"

"Where…where am I?"

"Home, now. You're my minion, got it? And I'm your boss. You listen to me now."

"O—okay." Holy Rome looked dazed and confused and as scared as a child deserved to be.

Prussia came up to him, and Germany could remember this scene perfectly. He remembered his fear, cold in his veins as the crimson eyed warrior bent down to examine him for the first time. He remembered the stench of Prussia's armor, the fierceness in his eyes.

"Good. We'll make a warrior outta you yet!" Prussia laughed and clapped Germany's younger self on the back.

Germany's head spun. This was real. This had really happened; he could remember it clear as day. But what did that mean? That everything Rome had shown him before— He felt Rome's hand rest heavily on his shoulder.

"One last stop, kid. Let's go." The world spun, but Germany hardly noticed it beyond the pounding and confusion in his head.

They were inside someone's house now, and Germany recognized it immediately as Italy's. He hadn't been there for a while, but he still remembered exactly what it looked like. Italy and Japan sat quietly at the dining table, enjoying an Italian meal together. Italy looked uncharacteristically deflated, and Japan's features were clouded with worry.

"I'm sure Germany-san has his reasons. You know well how busy he always is."

"Yeah…" Italy sighed, and it was so unlike him that Germany didn't know how to react. His friend was never like this. Never. The sight of Italy with his eyes downcast and his lips drawn into a frown stabbed at Germany's heart. He never wanted to see Italy like this. He'd do anything to make it stop.

"It's the day after his last birthday party, in case you were wondering." Rome helpfully supplied. "You had a meeting with your advisors and couldn't come. Ring any bells yet?"

It did. This had been just a few months ago. Italy hadn't looked that upset at the time; he'd been disappointed, yes, but he'd just waved Germany's concern off and said that he was fine. And Germany had believed him. _Such an ass_, Germany thought of himself.

"I wonder…I wonder if Ludwig ever gets lonely. He's always by himself in his office. I hope…he doesn't feel…all alone in the world." Italy confessed quietly. Japan watched him with sympathetic eyes, but didn't answer.

"You…" Germany grit his teeth and clenched his fists. His guilt and self-anger needed an outlet, and he was about ready to punch someone, revered Ancient Roman Empire or not. "Why are you showing me this? What does this…have to do with anything…?"

Rome blinked blankly at him. "I really hope you're just pretending to be stupid. I mean, c'mon, even I would get the message! I haven't exactly been subtle here."

Germany growled and grabbed a fistful of Rome's cape. "This is all a fucking nightmare and I just want to go home and sleep. Let me the hell out of this place!"

But Rome didn't move. It was as if he'd become a statue, his accusing eyes boring into Germany until the younger nation couldn't take it anymore. He jerked Rome's cape as hard as he could. The fabric grew impossibly large under his grasp, and began to spread until it enveloped them all. Darkness fell. Germany yelled and fought against the cloth. He cussed and punched and struggled as if for his life.

And then he was awake, and alone once more in his bed.


	3. Chapter 3: Ghost of Christmas Present

_A/N: I should tell you that the writing style changes from silly and humorous to more serious after this point. I labeled this story as "drama" instead of "humor" because of that. My apologies._

**3/5: The Ghost of Christmas Present**

Germany let out a huge sigh of relief. A nightmare, that was all.

He glanced at the clock. 1:01. Strange, he could've sworn it'd been past 2am when he'd gone to bed. He touched his forehead and felt the heat there. Great. He was getting a fever. He rolled over onto his side, throwing the blanket over his head, determined to go back to sleep.

Germany wasn't sure how much time had passed when he woke up next, and for a second, he didn't know what had wakened him. Then he felt that tingling in his spine, the disturbing sense of being watched. He pushed up onto his forearms and looked at the clock. 1:00.

Then Germany turned over, and saw a hulking figure sitting in a chair on the other side of his bed. He scooted back so quickly he nearly rolled off the bed altogether.

"Russia? What the flying fuck!"

Russia had a sweet smile on his face that wasn't fooling anyone. Instead of his normal heavy, white coat, he was wearing an equally heavy green coat. Other than the color difference, he looked as normal as Russia always looked. Which was to say not one effing bit.

"What are you doing here! Why are you in my house? Get out!"

"Calm down, Germany. I'm just here to help you out. I love to help people, you know." Russia giggled. Germany felt like throwing up in his mouth. He settled for rubbing the bridge of his nose instead, in obvious irritation.

"I suppose next you're going to tell me you're the ghost of Christmas Present, and you're not going away until I follow you and subject myself to a number of freaky visions."

"Da!" Russia happily chirped.

"Fine," Germany sighed in defeat. "Let's just get this charade over with so I can crawl in a ditch and die. Make your stupid spinny thing, I'm ready."

"Sadly, comrade, I do not spin well." Russia replied good-naturedly. "Just touch my magic coat and we'll be on our way!"

Feeling ridiculously like Alice trapped in a nightmarish Wonderland, Germany reached out tentatively and touched a pinkie to Russia's green coat. Immediately, the bed disappeared from under him and he fell. When he got up again, he saw that they were in Italy's house once more.

Italy was sitting on a couch in the living room, Romano beside him. A number of nations lumbered around, chatting amicably with each other and sipping drinks.

"Aww thanks for the party, Romano! You're so thoughtful! I love you~!" Italy flung himself at Romano's neck. The older Italian gave an annoyed grunt, but didn't shrug away.

Germany thought it was ridiculous to feel jealous of Italy's brother. They were brothers, for heaven's sake, and since when did he think he had exclusive rights to Italy's hugs, anyway? Ridiculous.

"You're damn right I'm thoughtful! I'm the best damn brother in the fucking world," Romano huffed, and Germany couldn't help but feel like it was Gilbert talking all over again. "Now will you forget the stupid potato bastard?"

Italy giggled into Romano's neck. From where Germany knew Italy couldn't see it, Romano smiled gently and turned his face into his brother's hair as if to press a kiss there. "He doesn't deserve you anyway. Fucking bastard. I'll go kick his ass tomorrow myself."

"it's okay, Romano," Italy pulled back and smiled weakly at him. "Ludwig's just busy. He always says I'm too clingy. You say it too. I know I am. I'll just give him his space until he's not so busy anymore."

Germany saw the weariness hiding beneath Italy's words. He saw the sadness and hurt buried deep in his eyes. He saw how fragile Italy's smile was. It hurt. _It frickin hurt_, and all Germany wanted to do was touch Italy again and hold him and tell him he was sorry. But when he reached out, his fingers slipped through Italy's arm like grains of sand.

"Nah-un! You can look but you can't touch!" Russia told him in a sing-song voice.

Just then, two new figures entered the room. It was England, carrying a small boy on his shoulders. "Hey there, Italy. You feeling okay?"

"Yeah! I'm great! How are you, England? Aww and you brought your little brother with you! Isn't he cute!" Italy reached out and gave the boy a hug. The boy looked embarrassed, but he patted Italy's head all the same.

"Who's the kid?" Germany wondered aloud.

"That's Sealand!" Russia chirped next to him. "He's England's little brother, but he's not a real boy."

"What do you mean he's not a real boy? What's wrong with him?"

"No one will recognize him as a country. It's really sad," Russia smiled. "But it's okay, because one day, he's going to be part of mother Russia, like everyone, and no one will make fun of him ever again!"

"Erm. Yeah. You go do that." Germany turned to Italy again. He'd always felt protective of Italy, but the fierce protectiveness surging inside him now frightened him. He hadn't felt this way for…sixty years…

"Heey~ Comrade! It's time to go! We have to see another party! Touch me again!"

Germany pulled a face. His eyes still lingering on Italy, he poked Russia and reality changed yet again. They were inside someone else's house now. Judging just by the huge piano in the corner of the room, Germany had a good idea where they were.

Austria was standing next to them, in the middle of the spacious lounge, running a hand through his usually perfectly groomed locks and looking uncharacteristically frazzled. Japan ran by beside them, carrying a large box filled with what looked like party decorations. Several other nations were also running around, stringing up decorations and blowing up balloons.

Austria turned his attention to something behind Germany, and huffed irritably. Germany turned to follow his gaze. Spain and France were reclining on the sofa; France was looking around with a mildly impressed look on his face, while Spain was smiling widely and dangling his legs over the edge of the armrest.

"Hey, you two. Are you going to help or just sit there on your butts? Don't waste my time." Austria crossed his arms and looked every part the offended aristocrat.

"Please, mignon, you really expect me to help? I merely came as a favor to Gilbert. I can't possibly be expected to help decorate. I'm simply too gorgeous." France somehow inexplicably pulled a mirror the size of his head out of his pocket, and began preening in it, chuckling affectionately at his own reflection.

Spain jumped up sheepishly and rubbed his neck in embarrassment. "Sorry Austria, my friends are dumb bastards, but they're good-hearted bastards, really. I'm sorry about Gilbert again. And I'm sorry about Francis here too." He grabbed the blond's arm and tried to hull him up, but France stubbornly refused to move an inch.

Austria growled and marched up to them, walking right through the invisible Germany (and wasn't that a weird experience). He seized France's mirror and tossed it over his shoulder. It shattered into a thousand pieces as France's piteous wails followed after it.

"If you're not going to help, just leave. Please. The party is in two days, and I'm at the limit of my patience here. Thank you for acting as Prussia's messenger boys. And tell him it's not as if I expected anything different from him anyway."

"Francis and I will come back on the big day," Spain offered a sincere smile as he pulled a sobbing France along with him. "And, he's not my friend or anything, but I'm sorry about Germany too. Those German brothers are a bit anti-social, huh?"

A flash of hurt crossed Austria's face. But he steeled himself quickly and answered, "Whatever. It doesn't matter. Prussia hasn't been a friend in decades. And Germany…has his own reasons, I'm sure."

Germany felt like an incredible ass. Austria was one of the only people who tolerated his gruff behavior, and he couldn't even be bothered to show up at a huge party the older nation was planning for his ex-wife. There'd been a time when they were so close. What had happened to them all?

"Are you ready to go home, comrade?"

Germany almost jumped. He'd forgotten Russia was still there. The large Russian was humming a cheerful tune under his breath, his face still frozen in an eerie smile. "Touch my coat and let's go!"

Germany touched Russia's coat. He'd expected to find himself back in his own room again, but they were nowhere close. They'd appeared at a frozen wasteland, thick ice and billowing snow in every direction around them.

"Can you see the stars tonight, comrade? Can you see how beautiful and unattainable they are? They are always there, you know. They never leave us. Some would even say they mock us…" Russia was still smiling, but now there was definitely something sinister in his expression. As Germany opened his mouth to ask what was going on, Russia pulled his coat wide open—to reveal two cowering figures hidden underneath.

"What the—!"

"Would you like to meet them, comrade? This is Estonia. I call him Ignorance. And this is Latvia. I call him Want. They're my little stars, just for me! I used to have another one, but he ran away. That's okay. They'll all join me again someday." Russia giggled.

Estonia and Latvia looked pitiful. They seemed to be frozen with cold, their cheeks hollow with hunger. Latvia's teeth chattered loudly as he clung to his thin, red coat. Estonia's eyes were tightly closed, as if escaping to a better place in his mind.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Russia! Let them go!"

"Why? Aren't they having fun?"

"You're messed up in the head! Obviously they're malnourished and freezing. Let them go! They need help!"

"Help, comrade?" Russia's eyes glinted maliciously. "In your own words: 'Save it for the soup kitchen,' da?"

Germany was blinded by the whipping storm. He couldn't see anything, and Russia seemed to suddenly be so far away. He heard the larger man's laughter ringing in his eyes, an ominous clacking of harsh 'k' sounds, nothing like his earlier girlish giggles. Germany threw his hands out in front of him to claw at the snow, to fight his way through—if only he could grab Estonia and Latvia, he could still save them—!

Germany was enveloped in blinding white. He heard yelling, and realized it was coming from himself. He shot up from his bed, his chest heaving in the quiet darkness. He turned immediately to the clock.

0:00

The witching hour. It was time. Germany swiveled around to see an ominous figure approaching him, his entire body and face hidden in a cloak of darkest night. Only his scythe glinted in the darkness.


	4. Chapter 4: Ghost of Christmas Future

_****Warning**__: A little USUK, Some angst and a lot of swearing in this chapter. A LOT of swearing (you'll see why). Personally, I think if you're 13 and are okay with the word "fuck," then you can read any variations thereof, so I'm not going to up the rating for now. However, if this offends you, please let me know and I'll reconsider it. Thanks._

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><p><strong>45: The Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come**

Beyond disbelief now, Germany simply rose up with as much dignity as he could muster and faced the new apparition with his chin held high.

"I suppose you must be the ghost of Christmas Future."

The ghastly creature did not answer.

"Are you secretly someone I know as well? It seems like all the previous ghosts have been huge effing thorns in my side: Prussia, Rome, Russia. With my luck, you'll turn out to be France, or America, or Austria, or even worse—"

The ghost of Christmas Yet to Come whipped off his hood, furious brown eyes meeting Germany's.

"I was right. It is worse." Germany was tempted to facepalm.

"Shut the fuck up, you fucking potato bastard. You're such a fucking scrooge that no one else would fucking take this job, that's how fucking depressing of a depressing dipshit you are, you jackasserly bastard of a potato slug bastardly ass!"

Germany was silent for a moment. "Wow. Even I have to admit to being a little impressed by that outburst."

"I thought I told you to shut the fuck up." Romano glared hard at Germany. "You fucking broke my brother's heart. If I could touch you, I'd be kicking your ass seven ways to Sunday right now, you son of a cow-goat hybrid. I'd shove this scythe so far up your ass it'd find Narnia."

"Okay, okay, I got it." Germany held his hands up in supplication. An enraged Romano was, if not physically intimidating, at least quite verbally creative. "Aren't you supposed to be showing me visions of my future?"

"I will. That's why I'm here. I'm gonna show you how much better the world is going to be if you just did us all a fucking favor and dropped dead. Might I suggest fucking a cactus? It sounds like a painful way to bleed to death, and I'd love to see you squirm."

"Just get on with it," Germany growled out between grit teeth.

"The fuck? Aren't you supposed to be all cowering in fear and begging me and shit? Well? Let's see it, you sad contagious plague on the air particles you breath. Cower!" Romano banged the end of the scythe handle against the ground and waited imperiously.

Germany scoffed and resolutely determined to ignore him.

"Fine, you sack of worm-gorged wretched aberration to the heavens. Fucking devil-piss-soaked douche. Goat sucking grandmafucker of a –"

"Am I going to stand here being spit on all night or are you actually here to do something?"

"—jizz-licking yeast-infested bunch-backed toad!" Romano finished in a spitting rage.

They stared each other down for several more minutes.

"Alright already, move your ulcer-inducing ass, you baby-skewering, water rat-eating—"

Romano stomped over to the door to Germany's bedroom, all the while rumbling venomous insults at him. He flung the door wide open and gestured Germany through.

Germany walked through with trepidation, and found himself not in the hallway of his house, but rather on a charming backyard patio. He turned and saw England and America sitting at a small round table, England pouring America a cup of tea and handing it to him.

"It was a great idea to split Germany's wealth between all of us. Now not only do we not have to pay him back, our economies are surging due to the influx of surplus capital. Scone?" England picked up a scone and shook it gently at America.

"Hell yes! As long as you didn't make it yourself." America grabbed the pastry and shoved it in his mouth, washing it down with tea.

"Of course not. I'm eating too, you know."

"It was frigging genius, dude! I mean, not like anyone's gonna miss it, you know? It was all just sitting there. And now that his territories are split up, you tight-assed Europeans don't have to like, fight for space all the time!"

"Yes. We tight-assed Europeans sure do fight all the time. How _are_ you Americans so peaceful?" England's voice dripped with sarcasm, which flew right over America's head as he laughed.

They chatted for a bit, and Germany was about to demand Romano take him to the next scene, because frankly, hearing England and America talk so flippantly about his apparent death was getting depressing. Romano smirked over at him. The bastard. He was enjoying it.

There was a lull in the conversation, during which England's face lost its peacefulness and a wistfully sad look came over him. "Still…it'll be strange to go into those EU meetings without him. He was always such a commanding presence during those things."

"Yeah. I remember the good old days when he'd come out to bars with us. Could drink almost anyone under the table! Heck, almost did me once!" America laughed ruefully and England gave a joking scoff.

"You wouldn't know the 'good old days' if they smacked you upside the head." England's fingers tightened on his teacup and he looked to be suppressing a fierce emotion.

America reached out to him, but his hand fell halfway through. It was obvious that the younger nation wanted to comfort him, but the tension was thick and neither dared to make the first move.

"Ugh. It's getting pansy assed emotional in here. Let's get the fuck out." Romano turned and pulled open the door leading into England's house. Germany spared them one final glance—the regret in England's eyes, the helplessness in America's—and took the step beyond.

He landed in a spacious living room with a coffee table, TV and a set of sofas. Traffic blared outside the high-rise's window. Germany saw Japan sitting gracefully on the floor, concentrating intensely on a game board placed on the coffee table in front of him. China sat cross-legged across from him, equally engrossed.

China's deft fingers picked up one of the white playing pieces, each of which had foreign characters carved on their surface. He moved it in a series of complicated taps, then sat back and crossed his arms.

"Check," China smirked. Behind him, South Korea whopped in triumph and Hong Kong looked on with interest. Behind Japan, Taiwan stuck her tongue out in defiance. Japan remained stoic, and, after several moments of intense silence, moved a black piece in turn.

Germany watched for a while as the Asian nations dueled it out in this foreign board game. Finally, China yelled triumphantly and pumped his fists above his head. The room was filled with the sounds of their chatter and laughter. They transitioned smoothly between English and something else, all except South Korea, who seemed to struggle with whatever other language his siblings were speaking.

"Ai ya!" South Korea finally wailed, flapping his arms in annoyance, "Let's just talk in English! I can't speak Chinese! Or we should all talk in Korean, cause that was the first language ever invented, da ze!" Taiwan cuffed him on the head and the others laughed.

For the first time in his long life, Germany saw Japan completely at ease with his once-estranged siblings. He sat amongst them, soft affection in his eyes, and a gentle smile on his lips. He looked so natural here, so much like he belonged.

"Anyway, Kiku, I'm glad you're finally back with us!" South Korea slapped Japan on the back as he laughed.

Taiwan joined in, adding, "Yes, brother, it's so nice to finally have you here. Ah, how long has it been…"

"Yes, you're right, of course. My apologies. It has been…a difficult few decades…"

"Decades?" China scoffed, but his tone was teasing. "More like centuries."

"Yeah, Kiku! Those Europeans didn't deserve you anyway. What jerks, especially that Ger—" Hong Kong punched South Korea in the head, and the loud-mouthed nation fell silent.

A flicker of sadness shone through Japan's eyes. He offered a shaky smile. Taiwan tactfully changed the subject, and the moment passed.

Romano laughed beside Germany. "See that, you pathetic excuse for an inebriated donkey's shit? Once you're outta the picture, and Feliciano's too busy crying over you to pay him any attention, Japan can finally stop chasing after your friendship and reconcile things with his siblings at home. Now he's among people who actually appreciate him, and he's happy. Now will you drop dead?"

Germany didn't dignify that with a response. Romano had let slip that Italy had cried over him.

Romano seemed to have realized his blunder as well, as his face grew a tint hotter and his perpetual scowl deepened. "Fine, you shitting paragon of jackassery in a bleeding shopping cart. Just one more show to go, then I can go have myself fumigated and checked for dick-on-face disease. Try to keep up, you son of a loose Amsterdam bitch." Romano kicked open the door connecting the living room to the rest of the apartment. Germany walked through without a single word.

This time he found himself back in familiar territory. The corner of a piano peaked out from the doorway to the lounge beyond, as Germany stood in Austria's dining room. Austria was serving a meal to his guests, placing food-heaped plates in front of them. He sat down next to Hungary, across from Italy and Prussia. The scene looked oddly intimate, like a small, tight-knit family sitting down to dinner together. It made Germany's heart ache, but again, like the time when he'd witnessed that innocent kiss, he didn't understand why.

"Thanks for inviting us to dinner again, Mr. Austria!" Italy clapped his hands together in delight.

Austria mumbled a welcome, and Hungary answered in the same cheerful tone, "Of course, little Italy. You know you guys are always welcome. It'll be my turn to have everyone over next week! I can't promise my cooking will be as delicious as yours, Italy, but I'll definitely try!"

They laughed together with experienced ease, as if they were so used to being together like this that it had become routine instead of a miracle, something to be taken for granted instead of wondered at in amazement.

They chatted amicably for a time, and Germany found his heart constricting tighter and tighter with each passing moment, each bout of laughter and good cheer. He stood beside Italy, watching the expressions of joy and delight and simple happiness flicker endlessly across his face like a stuttering movie reel. He wondered when he'd gotten so attached to that face, when he'd become able to read each expression so accurately.

He could find no hint of sadness or regret on that beautiful face, no whisper of sorrow or nostalgia. If only for this one moment in time, which Romano had surely chosen to spite him, Italy truly had forgotten about Germany. It was crueler than anything Romano could've said to him.

"Oh, Italy, you have a little something on your cheek." Hungary tapped her own face to point it out to him.

Italy tried swiping at the spot with his tongue, but missed. Prussia chuckled and leaned over, his arm winding around the back of Italy's chair, and his sinful tongue darting out to lick the smear of food from Italy's cheek. It was such a small act, such a quiet declaration of affection and love, yet Germany felt like his heart was about to explode. Neither Austria nor Hungary seemed surprised at the display, smiling indulgently like a pair of parents pleased with their child's choice in lovers. Germany wanted to throw up, and he wanted, irrationally, to cry.

Italy laughed, only a slight tremor on the first note to betray his unease. His eyes were open for only a moment, but within them Germany felt as if he could read his soul. There was a deep sadness swimming in those depths, wretched and haunting like a siren's melody. It was Germany's one hope for redemption.

"Well, you overgrown malignant brain tumor? Now do you see? After you kicked the bucket, Feli was finally able to pay attention to other people. Prussia, as disgusting as he is, is still an improvement from your disease and flea ridden ass, and unlike your grand dickery self, he actually pays attention to Feli and doesn't screw him around. Then, with Feli's help, he's reconciled his differences with Austria and Hungary, and they're all one big happy family now. Are you finally convinced that everyone's better off without you? Or maybe I should show you the Nordics too? Maybe the Mediterraneans? Hell, even the Caribbean guys are fucking celebrating."

"Aren't you supposed to be teaching me something? A lesson, to encourage me on the right path and all that holly jolly bullshit?" Germany meant his voice to come out in a sneer, but all he'd managed was a thin contempt. Even he could tell that his voice was hollow with pain.

Romano dissected him with his eyes, judging him and stripping him bare. For the first time in this nightmare, he didn't spew out a string of insults and jibes. Instead, he watched Germany intently, a strange passion boiling over in those brown eyes, almost as expressive as his younger brother's. Then the world was spinning without warning, like when it had been Rome grinning beside him instead of Romano scowling, and Germany felt dizzy and sick and terribly, terribly alone.

They arrived in a quiet field, dark and foreboding. The silence that hung over them was palpable, not merely the absence of sound, but an entity looming overhead. Germany looked around. It was a graveyard.

Romano strode wordlessly ahead without turning around. Germany followed morosely. They walked a short ways until they were at a large headstone, towering over the rest. Carved in marble and trimmed in gold, the inscription on it read simply "Deutschland." That was it. No short phrase commemorating him, no words of affection or goodbye, not even a small prayer to guide him on his way. _Deutschland_.

_Deutschland_.

Suddenly, Romano's hand shot out from under the cloak and seized Germany's wrist with unnatural strength. Germany vaguely recalled Romano saying that he couldn't touch him, but that wasn't even relevant now.

"Listen to me, and you listen to me good, you bastard. This is one vision of the future, but it doesn't have to be this way. Nothing is written in the stars. _Nothing_. You want your future to be different? You want your life to mean something? Then go out there and write it your way. Stop trying to be the best fucking Germany you can be, and start trying to be Ludwig, for once in your fucking life!"

Germany looked into Romano's furious face, but all he could see was Italy. Italy.

_Feliciano_.

And it hit him: _Feliciano always called him Ludwig_. This wasn't the end. There was a chance, a chance for redemption.

"I will," He answered the reaper, and Romano's face softened just a fraction. He released Germany and held his chin up high in triumph.

"Then what are you waiting for, bastardo?"

Suddenly the world was swirling all around him, and when next Germany woke, it was morning.

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><p><span>Notes:<span>

[1] "Worm-gorged" and "bunch-backed toad" are taken from Shakespeare, and the idea of skewering babies and water rats comes from the poem "Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came". All of Romano's other insults are results of my depraved imagination.


	5. Chapter 5: The End of It

_A/N: There's not much humor in the chapter, I apologize. Prussia and Romano provide some comic relief, but it's mostly tying up the romance and other loose ends in the plot. Sorry!_

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><p><strong>55: The End of It**

Germany felt achy and hot and feverish. He felt sunlight streaking across the room, bathing his face in gentle warm. Then he felt something different: a soft brush of heat across his forehead, a dash of wetness and a plethora of warmth.

Someone had placed a warm towel over his forehead.

He cracked open his eyes and saw a blurry shape looming over him, but it wasn't intimidating, wasn't frightening in the least. It was a comfort, lending him strength. He tried to form words, but everything came out in a soft moan.

"Oh! Ludwig! I'm sorry for waking you. I'm so clumsy. Go back to sleep, Ludwig." Italy's voice reached his ears, and if Germany had been a poetic man, he might have said it sounded like music. Instead he simply broke into a grin and opened his eyes wider.

Italy had a smile on his face, fondness and worry shining in his large eyes. Germany tried to move, tried to shift his arm. Italy's hand settled on his forearm, gently coaxing him back to rest.

"Don't try to get up yet, Ludwig. Ve~ you're really burning…"

Germany wanted to laugh. He wanted to giggle and snicker like a madman because _goddamn_, he was burning up and the migraine was going to split his head in two, and he still hadn't felt this good in decades. But he was Germany, and Germany didn't go around giggling like a fool. So he tried to stomp it down with a burst of mean spiritedness.

"Shouldn't you be…doing important things?"

Italy never missed a beat: "Ve~ But you ARE important things, Ludwig!" He laughed and giggled and practically glowed with good will, and for once, Germany let himself join in. Because Germany may not be allowed to act the fool, but nobody said that Ludwig couldn't. So he summoned all his strength, and pushed up onto his forearms, and when Italy protested and fussed and pushed him back, he pulled Italy down with him, and kissed him on the cheek. It was the most innocent thing he could've done; they'd done this so many times before, but this time it felt different, and it felt good.

"Thank you, Italy. I'm sorry. For yesterday. And the day before that. I'm sorry for all the days. I—"

"It's okay, Ludwig. I'll always forgive you." And Germany knew then that Italy meant it. He really, really meant it. "And afterwards, when you're better, we can go play football in the park and eat gelato!"

"I'd like that," Germany replied. And he meant it. He really, really did.

XXX-XXX-XXX-XXX

A few more hours of recovering in bed, and Germany felt like a new man. The only reminder of his night-long ordeal was a light bruise on his right wrist, a ghost of a handprint that he knew would vanish within the day. There were so many unanswered questions, but Germany had learned that sometimes, he shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth, no matter how curious he was, and this was definitely one of those times.

Italy was in the kitchen whipping up a storm for their lunch, so Germany took the opportunity to head to his office. He looked upon the piles and piles of unfinished paperwork with disinterest, and navigated his way through them to his phone. He dialed.

"Moshi moshi."

"Hello, Japan."

"Germany-san. What a pleasant surprise. I did not expect to hear from you again so soon. How are you today?"

"Good, Japan. Just…really good." Germany wondered if Japan could hear his smile through the phone, and figured that the observant nation probably could.

"It is good to hear you speak with such easy contentment, Germany-san. I am glad whatever problems you had when last we spoke seem to now be resolved."

"Yes, Japan, they have. Listen, I'm sorry about yesterday. I was rude to you."

"Consider it forgotten, Germany-san. I bear you no ill will for it."

"Thank you, Japan. I wanted to let you know that…my schedule's cleared up. And, well, if you'll still have me, I'd, uh, love to be there for Hungary's birthday."

Japan paused only a moment in surprise, before his voice returned, tinged with a new happiness. "Of course we will have you, Germany-san. You are always welcome."

"Thanks Japan."

"Of course. Was there anything else you wished to discuss?"

Germany twirled the phone cord around in nervousness. The vision in China's apartment was forefront in his mind. He took a deep breath, and jumped in: "Yes, Japan. There was something else…. When was the last time you talked to China? Or any of your siblings? Outside of a formal setting."

There was silence on the other end. When Japan spoke again, it was in a tone of perfect neutrality, just the faintest hint of weary strain underneath. "Admittedly it has been a long time. But Germany-san, you need not concern yourself with my relationship with my siblings. Things have always been…complicated…between us."

"Things were complicated between me and Prussia for a long time too."

"I appreciate your concern, I really do, but—it's not the same."

"I know. But how long do you intend to keep pushing them away?"

If Japan thought Germany sounded all kinds of hypocrite, he politely kept it to himself. "I do not have an answer to that, Germany-san."

"Then why don't you start trying to change things now? It doesn't have to be hard, just start small. Invite China and the others to Hungary's party tomorrow. They might surprise you."

Again Japan was silent for a long time. Germany waited with newfound patience, until finally he heard a small sigh on the other end and knew that Japan had relented. "Very well. I will take your advice. Thank you."

"Of course." Germany buzzed with a tingling sort of happiness. They made small talk for a bit longer, before bidding their goodbyes, till tomorrow.

As he hung up the receiver, Germany eyed the delicate blue vase Italy had placed on his desk, France's pink and red blooms like blush against the cool crystal. Germany picked up the largest, most passionate red rose from the vase, and twisted off the long, thorned stem.

Just then, Italy poked his head into the study. "Lunch is ready, Ludwig! Unless—" There was uncertainly in his eyes; he bit his lip and ventured, "Unless you're busy. I understand, I can leave if—"

"No, Italy. I'm not busy at all. And lunch sounds really good right about now."

When Italy's face broke into a thousand-watt smile, Germany thought that for the rest of his life, he'd say and do anything to see that smile over and over again.

Just before he got up to follow Italy, a thought crossed his mind and he cracked open his laptop to send an email to his boss. It was short, formal but polite, and in it, he asked to schedule a meeting to discuss reconsidering denying the stimulus packages to their fellow EU nations.

When he reached the dining room, he found Prussia already there, digging boorishly into the pasta. He had no idea how Prussia knew that there would be food that day; his brother must've had the nose of a hungry bloodhound. And if Prussia really had been in Germany's bedroom last night, he didn't let on. The bruise on Germany's wrist was barely visible now.

The German brothers exchanged quick greetings, before Prussia returned to licking the last of the sauce off his plate and demanding a second helping. Italy enthusiastically complied.

"Y'know, Feli, this is amazing. You're an amazing cook. You're an amazing everything. I bet you've got mad skills in places other than the kitchen, if you catch my drift." Prussia waggled his eyebrows suggestively at Italy.

While in his dream, Germany had wanted madly to crush Prussia's face into cement, now he felt nothing but a fond irritation for his brother. He cuffed Prussia affectionately on the back of his head.

"Back off, Gilbert. Feliciano's taken; he's off the market." He'd called him Feliciano. The name tasted new and exotic on his tongue, and so, so heart-achingly _right_.

Prussia was about to protest that he could seduce Italy away from any dumbass, when the look on his brother's face stopped him in his tracks. Because Germany never wore that look. He looked doting and dreamy and totally, utterly, _helplessly_ smitten. It was disgusting. It was so fucking sweet all his front teeth were already jumping ship. And then Prussia realized that some of that fondness was directed at him too, and the rest of his teeth hightailed it out of there.

And maybe he was just a little touched too, but torture and wild horses wouldn't drag that out of him.

Meanwhile, Italy just looked baffled. Then he saw Prussia looking between him and Germany with a grudgingly charitable smirk on his face, and a light bulb went off in his brain. For a moment he was frozen in place with shock, and then he smiled so wide that Prussia could practically see the glow of pure, unadulterated happiness cascading through him in waves, and Germany—Germany thought he looked like the sun.

As they ate in companionable silence, Germany twirled the red rose in his hands nervously. Then he took another leap of faith. He threaded it through Italy's soft brown strands—tucked it above his ears—and it wasn't the flower, but the smile that suddenly made Italy even more radiant than sunlight.

After lunch, Germany forced his mind to turn from this new, tentative happiness to more practical matters at hand. Prussia scooted back in his chair, stretching like a cat and declaring that he was going to leave the 'lovebirds' alone, and go find Spain and France to raise some hell. Germany grabbed his brother's sleeve. When he looked into those crimson eyes, he felt like Holy Rome for the very first time.

"It's been a while since we've seen Austria and Hungary."

"Yeah, so?"

"We should go—"

"Who the fuck needs them. I don't fucking need them. I'm perfectly happy! Yeah!"

Germany almost cracked a smile at how well his imagination had conjured up Prussia's idiosyncrasies. "Well then humor me, Gilbert. I haven't seen them for a while, and…things are…still a little awkward between us. It would help a lot if you were there. You know, to ease the tension."

Prussia's narrowed eyes sliced through him with ease. The proud warrior in him lived on, and he could see through all of Germany's tricks. But instead of looking pissed off at Germany's poor shot at manipulation, Prussia suddenly seemed filled with pride, as if he'd been waiting for this day to happen, for his little brother to finally grow up and show some guile.

"Fine, West. And I'll even hold your hand too, ya big fucking wuss." Prussia punched his shoulder. "That lame ass party, I suppose? Tomorrow? Fine, I guess I could clear a window for you. Y'know, only cause I'm awesome, and you're my baby brother and all that shit." Then he blew them both a raspberry that completely belied his age, and ran off laughing like hell.

On the tails of that dramatic exit, the phone in Germany's study suddenly ringed, and he apologetically excused himself while Italy nodded his okay and bounced into the kitchen to finish washing the dishes.

"Allo. Deutschland."

It was his boss's secretary, and they conversed smoothly in German:

"_Good afternoon, Mr. Germany. The Chancellor would like to know if you'd be free tomorrow at 10am for that meeting you wanted to schedule."_

"_That'll work fine. Also, Ms. Tohler, I'd like to discuss opening new links of trade with the Balkan nations, possibly increasing imports at a greater ratio than exports."_

Germany could hear the secretary's fingers flying over her keyboard. "_Anything else, Mr. Germany?"_

"_One last thing. I'd like to send a diplomatic overture to Sealand. It used to be territory of England, but they've since renounced control and recognized Sealand's sovereignty. I think it would only be right for Germany, as a leader in the EU, to follow suit."_

He heard the sound of the kitchen sink turning off. "_Thank you, Ms. Tohler, that'll be all. Good day."_

Just as he was about to leave his office, he spied England's half-eaten casserole still lying morbidly on his shelf. A vision of America with nervous fingers outstretched flashed through his mind. The look in America's eyes had said that his actions had been about more than just that one fumbling attempt; they'd been doing that dance almost as long as Germany and Italy had.

At just the right moment, Italy bounced giddily into his office.

"Hey Feliciano, you know that casserole from England?" Italy nodded, not sure where Germany was going with this. "Could you toss it with pasta and wine tomorrow morning? Make it look more…edible?"

"Of course, Ludwig, anything for you! But I really don't think you should eat it anymore, after you got that fever and everything."

"Oh don't worry, it's not for me." Germany grinned enigmatically and was tempted to give Italy a conspiratorial wink. "Give me a second here, I'll only be a moment, okay?" Italy nodded happily, skipping over to the couch next to Germany's desk, and lounged as he waited.

Germany multitasked dialing and writing:

"_Good afternoon again, Ms. Tohler, I apologize, but I suddenly remembered something. Could you please prepare some thank you gifts for me? Prepare a hand mirror for Mr. France and a get-well-soon care package to Mr. England. Oh, and attach a note to both for me too: _'I do appreciate it, more than you think. I'll be there._' Have them ready for me to pick up after my meeting with the Chancellor; I'll deliver it to them myself at tomorrow's gathering. Thank you, Ms. Tohler. Good day."_

And the short note was finished too:

_America:_

_Thanks for the gift. Don't take offense at my returning it; it'll have a better home with you anyway. Italy cooked pasta as a peace offering._

_Best regards,  
>Germany.<em>

_PS: Up for drinks if you are. No almost about it, I can drink you under the table any day._

He strolled over to the couch, and picked up the abandoned American flag, playfully rolling a giggling Italy on to the floor. America would never be able to resist opening a present. Germany slung the flag over one arm and grabbed the casserole with the other. He hummed a cheerful little tune under his breath as he brought the items into the kitchen, Italy following right beside him.

Yup, he thought merrily to himself, everything would work out just fine after all.

Then Italy twined their arms together, clinging gently to Germany and looking up at him with such adoring eyes that Germany's breath caught, and he wondered if maybe things would work out better than just fine.

"Are you free now, Ludwig? Do you want to go to the park with me? You're still a bit sick, so we don't have to play football. Maybe we could just walk around, there's this pretty lake there, and when the sun sets, and—oh, what am I saying, it's right next to your house, of course you know there's a lake there. And well, I'd really like to spend some time with you, and did you really mean what you said back there? About me? Cause I'd totally understand if you didn't, but it just made me so happy and—"

Germany tilted his head and kissed the side of Italy's mouth with a confidence he never thought he had. "Of course I meant it. Now let's go." Yeah, he'd do anything alright, to keep seeing that smile.

XXX-XXX-XXX-XXX

It was in the park that they shared their first real kiss, and somehow it didn't feel at all like the first time. Germany wondered if it should feel so natural, as if he'd kissed those lips a thousand times before.

He wondered if it should feel so much like coming home.

The rest of the day was whittled away without a care in the world. They talked and teased and flirted as if all the words were already there, had just been buried and been bursting to come out. They probably had been. Dinner was a quiet affair spent on the patio of a small restaurant overlooking the Spree River. The sun was just setting when they started to head home, and the comfortable silent they'd fallen into was broken by the ringtone of Italy's cell phone.

"Pronto!"

A string of ugly sounding Italian assaulted Germany's ears from the other end of the call. If anyone could make such a melodic language sound so foul, it was sure to be Romano. Italy looked apologetically at Germany as he weathered his brother's assault. After 10 minutes of cursing and making threats, Romano had finally run out of steam, or he'd choked on the rabid foam coming out of his mouth, Germany didn't know which. Romano had never once asked to speak to him, and when Germany looked down on his wrist, there wasn't even the shadow of a mark left now.

Italy abashedly flipped his cell phone shut.

"Is he being an ass to you again?"

"No, it's okay, he's right. I didn't tell him I wouldn't be home for dinner. Romano worries a lot."

"Yeah, he does," Germany agreed without hesitation, but Italy still seemed a bit deflated.

Germany wondered how far he was willing to go to defend the older Italian brother. Then he saw Italy's smile in his mind's eye again, and _all the way _was the only answer. "He worries cause he loves you. Um. A lot."

"I know." Italy was smiling, and it was beautiful, but it wasn't blinding.

"No, I mean, more than you know. He's always doing stuff to protect you and make you happy, and he's sentimental too, when he thinks you aren't looking. Um. For example. Sometimes, when you hug him, he'll kiss the top of your head. Did you know that?" Italy didn't.

Ah, now it was blinding. He needed sunglasses if he was going to survive to winter.

XXX-XXX-XXX-XXX

When they returned home, Prussia was tactfully nowhere in sight and Germany realized to his growing nervousness that the night was still young.

Italy gazed up at him, biting his bottom lip. He looked anxious and excited and almost as nervous as Germany felt. "Do you want to take a bath, Ludwig? I think it'd be really relaxing."

Germany nodded, blushing scarlet, and followed behind Italy, who was swaying with energy and excitement. His Italy.

_His_ _Feliciano_.

After centuries of tentative bargains and bloody wars, empty ambitions and emptier glory, now, they were finally here. And, if only for this one moment in time, Germany's heart was bursting and he thought every star in the sky was perfect.

**/END!**

**Reviews are loved and appreciated, as always.**


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